


Words Are Not Enough

by PinboardButterfly



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, cullen doesn't realise he's in love, kinda angsty?? but not really, not really romance but that slow kinda fall, overprotective cullen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 05:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinboardButterfly/pseuds/PinboardButterfly
Summary: There's nothing like an archdemon almost killing the Inquisitor to help Cullen realise his feelings towards the elf are more than platonic. [Cullen x Male Inquisitor, spoilers for In Your Heart Shall Burn]





	Words Are Not Enough

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm halfway through Inquisition after finishing DA:II and was seriously bummed that I couldn't have my male elf Inquisitor romance Cullen. So, here's the start of something that I'm probably not going to continue, and have my Inquisitor finally get with the man he loves. I just needed to post something for my new obsession tbh. I'm new to the DA fandom so please forgive any mistakes! Spoilers for "In Your Heart Shall Burn".

_He’s going to die_ , the former Templar thought, a horrified sort of realisation dawning on him. _He’s going to die…for **us**._

He faced the elf who, only a short time ago, they’d pulled out of the Breach, half-dead, unresponsive for near three days. Cullen had visited him only once during that period, more out of pure curiosity than anything else. The elf was not what he had expected; pale, fine skin, patterned with awful, deep scars, mostly across the left side of his face (old scars, ones that Cullen still wondered to no end how he got them), downy white hair, long enough to curl a little at the nape of his neck (that for some inexplicable reason the former Templar wanted to reach out and brush out of his eyes) and a face that spoke volumes of compassion, and kindness, without having to say a single word (without even having to be _awake_ ).

No, the elf was not what he had expected. Not at all. And when Solas told him he was a mage – well, it drew a clear line in the sand between them, so to speak. Cullen judged on what he knew. And while the elf was asleep, Cullen already knew they were worlds apart. Cassandra had tutted when she noticed his reluctance.

“Is it because he is a mage? Or perhaps because he is an elf?” Her questions made him squirm. “Or,” she said, with a small smirk and a raised eyebrow, “is it because he is both?”

Cullen struggled to prepare in the days before the elf awoke. Adan worried he would not. Cullen wondered what he should say. What he remembered first about him, when they first laid eyes upon one another, was just that – his _eyes_. So warm, and golden, like embers in a fire. The elf was…kindly. Friendly. Pleasant – and always accommodating. It didn’t matter what absurd situation he was dragged into. He fought with a smile. He visited everyone in Haven, even ordinary townsfolk. He made an effort; he spoke to them each about their lives, their thoughts on the Breach, their roles in the Inquisition. Cullen was surprised when he’d approached him in the training grounds.

Erahn, Cullen reminded himself. His name is Erahn Lavellan.

_And he’s volunteering to sacrifice his own life to get us to safety._

“Cullen?” The Erahn’s hand found the pauldron of his armour. “Can you get them to safety?”

The shrieking sounds of the arch demon tearing through the sky were audible outside ( _Maker’s breath, they are **unmissable**_ ), above the crackle of fire, and the loud bangs of the trebuchets as they lobbed rocks at the mountainside. _I can’t let him go out there_ , Cullen thought, quite suddenly, his stomach lurching at the mere idea. _He will die. There is little doubt as to that. He will die. The arch demon will tear him apart, if the Elder One does not do so first._

But Cullen was a Templar, a soldier, first and foremost. His head won over his heart. It usually did.

“I can do my best.” _What am I saying?_ “I can lead the people through the pass, if Roderick believes such a place exists.” _Erahn will die if I let him do this._ “It’s you it wants. Make sure you give them hell.”

Erahn nodded. “I hope to see you again, Cullen.”

The templar’s breath hitched in his throat – _As do I_ – as the elf turned on his heel and sped out of the Chantry, Cole, Iron Bull, and Cassandra in tow.

He watched them go until people started tugging on his arm, calling his name. Dorian shouting about Roderick, Leliana about her agents, Josephine that the building was coming down around them. And even then, as they ran hard for the tunnel, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, hearing the clash of metal and the explosions of spells from beyond the Chantry doors.

They bolted for the secret tunnel, Roderick wheezing instructions to Dorian, who in turn relayed them to the rest of the survivors. Someone pressed a flaming torch into Cullen’s hand and he grasped it, his leadership instincts finally kicking in. It wasn’t hard; Roderick knew the path well, and, in fact, seemingly little had changed since the pilgrimage. Cullen led in front with Leliana by his side, bow in her hand. Everyone was running, panicked, hearing the mountains boom and shake around them as if they would fracture any minute. Shards of rock and ice rained down on their heads. Cullen barely had any time to think.

After a while, he wasn’t sure how long, their progress slowed. Survival kept everyone pushing forwards, but now at a reasonable pace, content that the advisors were not panicked, and thus, why should they be? Cullen walked alongside Leliana, watching as the lights of their torches cast nightmarish shadows dancing across the uneven passages. He was trying hard not to show it, but the events of the evening had taken their toll on him.

“Commander,” Leliana said, very gently, but Cullen still looked around in surprise, hand going to the sword at his hip.

“Is something wrong?”

Leliana slackened her grip on her bow, shaking her head. “We are not in danger, not as far as I can see. No, I actually had a question for you.”

Cullen winced, not because he worried as to the nature of the question – which, granted, he always worried whenever Leliana pried – but because flashes of pain danced across his body. He disguised it well, tensing hard, closing his eyes briefly in the hopes it would pass quickly. When it didn’t, he dropped his gaze to his hand on the hilt of his sword. It was shaking. _Lyrium saved me, once_ , he thought ruefully. _Now, it will be the death of me._

“What will we do if Lavellan does not make it?”

The concept of Erahn’s death hit him like a punch in the gut, and his response, far too sharp, came out reflexively. “He’ll make it.”

Leliana did not seem to notice the sharpness of his tone, or if she did, she didn’t comment on it. “You cannot be sure of that. If the elf dies tonight, we will have to think of another way to –”

“Maker’s _breath_ , Leliana!” His voice rang out in the sudden stillness of the passageway, making all the quiet murmurs in the tunnel behind him fall silent. He was still trembling slightly, lyrium withdrawals sending erratic pains throughout his body. “We made it, alright? And all you can think is what next! What _next_! A man’s _life_ is on the line – not to mention the others’!”

Leliana narrowed her eyes. “In death, sacrifice. One, for the many. Is that not what we agreed?”

Cullen inhaled, and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Maybe once._ But just thinking about Erahn, that scarred yet joyful face, lying broken and bloodied and lifeless in the snow was enough to make him want to turn around and run all the way back to the ruins of the Chantry. _I want to believe he is alive. That they all are._ Cullen knew this decision would stay with him for the rest of his life. If the party didn’t meet with them by dawn, he’d know he’d killed them. And he felt unbelievably sick.

“Yes.” His voice came out weak. “That is what we agreed.”

There was a sudden clatter of metal and the crowds of villagers behind them parted like a sea. Cassandra, Iron Bull, and Cole came running through the space, skidding to a halt beside Cullen and Leliana. The former Templar’s stomach dropped. _He’s dead. Why else would they be here, without him?_

Leliana asked the impossible question for him. “What happened?”

“The arch demon rained fire from the sky,” Cole murmured, in his strange, spectral voice. “All the rage, the agony, so much pain, Erahn, he…”

Cassandra ran over the top of him. “He bought us time to escape. He confronted the Elder One, allowing us to flee up the mountain after you all.”

A fist tightened around Cullen’s lungs. “And Erahn – is he…?”

A beat of silence. The Commander could barely contain his frustration, and yet it was still difficult to get the words out.

“Is he _dead_ , Cassandra?”

No-one missed the catch in his voice. Cassandra sighed. “I…don’t know, Commander. He was alive, when we last saw him.”

The fist around his lungs loosened, just a little. “Thank the Maker.”

Leliana shot him a sideways glance. “Come. We’ll let you get cleaned up, Seeker, Bull, Cole.”

_Cole_. Cullen raised a hand. “Wait – wait, Cole. You… you’re some kind of a spirit, are you not?”

Cole dipped his hat.

“Then can you track him? Can you track Erahn? Do you know where he is?”

“I can…sense him. Stretched thin, like running water over fallen rocks, lost in darkness, it’s thick, surrounding him… he is unconscious, somewhere. But where, I do not know.”

“We must go back for him!”

His outcry was met with silence.

“You all stare at me… you do not agree?”

Leliana laid a gentle hand on his arm. “One, for the many.” Her purposeful look silenced any protests on his lips, and he nodded, falling back slightly, allowing her and Josephine to take the lead.

She was right. Leliana was truthfully, entirely right. Why was he getting so worked up over this elf – this _mage_ – he barely knew? His sacrifice was brave – meaningful. He saved many lives tonight. That should be enough. Cullen grit his teeth, resolve wavering.

_So why isn’t it enough?_

By the time the survivors had emerged out onto the icy slopes of the mountains, everyone was exhausted, including Cullen. They set up a temporarily camp in a small space where the stone rose high either side, easily defensible, sheltered from the biting wind. Despite Cullen’s pestering, Cole said nothing more of Erahn the entire night. When the advisors clustered around the fire in the centre of the camp that evening, and Cassandra began to argue with Josephine, Cullen had no energy left in him. The effects of his withdrawal, tonight of all nights, were bad, worse than he’d had them so far, and he had to settle on one of the benches, rubbing a weary hand across his face. It felt like someone was pounding on his temples with a jackhammer, and the ladies’ bickering wasn’t helping.

Erahn had caught him once, in the early stages of the withdrawal. He’d come by the recruit’s training tents just outside of Haven. They’d only met a handful of times before that, and mostly in the company of the other advisors when a War Council had been summoned. The elf had wandered by, hands behind his back, smiling when someone called out in greeting, or ducked when a stray sword swung his way. Cullen’s hands had been shaking, vision flickering slightly at the edges, but he met with Erahn all the same. The elf looked so happy he just couldn’t bear to turn him away.

“Master Lavellan,” Cullen nodded curtly. “What can I do for you?”

Erahn smiled. “I just thought that, well… we’re working together now, aren’t we?”

Momentarily, Cullen was distracted by the pleasantness of the elf’s voice. “I-I fail to catch your insinuation, I’m afraid.”

“What I mean is – I would like to get to know you better, if that’s alright?”

Cullen chuckled. _Curious_. “Of course. What would you like to know?”

As they spoke, and occasionally broke for Cullen to call an order or correct one of the sparring recruits, the Commander felt himself enjoying the exchange hugely. It was nice to just engage in idle chat – something that, since the rebirth of the Inquisition, none of its members did often. Which was rather…upsetting. When their conversation ended, Cullen found himself somewhat disappointed. Why the elf was so interesting, he didn’t quite know, but on more than one occasion he found himself gazing for a frankly absurd amount of time at Erahn’s lips, or the breeze through his hair, or the way he rearranged his tunic. It was just so damn endearing.

But every movement always drew him back to the staff slung across the other man’s back, and it sent flickers of distrust through him. All his life, he’d grown up knowing he would protect others. And that’s why he’d joined the Templars – it was regrettable that many of the dangers came from mages, but that’s the way it was. He’d been taught that, and it was hard to discard now just because his armour bore a different seal.

“Oh, one more thing – did you leave anyone behind, in Kirkwall?”

The question caught the Commander off-guard. “I – well, no. There wasn’t even enough time for making friends, really, let alone…anything more than that. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason.” The elf smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “Thank you for taking the time to talk, Commander Cullen. I hope we can do this again some time.”

Cullen nodded, unable to help himself, and returned the smile. “Yes. I’ll be here if you need me.”

Cullen watched the other man walk away, smile lingering on his lips. It took him a while to realise he had stopped shaking. _When did that happen?_ He lifted his hand, scrutinised it, but true enough, he felt so much better than earlier. He permitted himself a small chuckle as he turned his full attention back to the recruits. _Coincidence, nothing more._

And just like that, he was wrenched back from his memories into the current cruel reality.

“He’s awake.”

Cullen’s head snapped up fast enough to give him whiplash. Cole sat beside him on the bench, previously unoccupied, his gaze somewhere far off on the snowy mountains. The Commander stared at him, mouth moving uselessly for a few moments, before he managed a response.

“Y-You know that? Where is he? Is he alright?” He couldn’t keep the desperation from his voice.

For a beat, Cole didn’t answer. “It’s cold…pain, there’s pain, everywhere, but mostly, a line, a break, in the centre, and my hand, it’s burning like fire, burning like a fire I’ve never felt before. Everything hurts. It’s so cold. Ice and darkness and I’m just so horribly _alone_. It’s choking, like water, like – like I’m drowning, and everything else is just a murmur around me, passing me by, struggling to survive…”

Cullen didn’t know what to say. _Whatever Cole is, he must be feeling what Erahn is feeling. And Cole said he felt pained, cold, and… **alone**._

He rose sharply, head spinning a little at the suddenness of the movement. “Do you know _where_ he is?”

“Close. I feel embers – still warm. Everything burns, but it’s so _cold_ , I need to lie down, just close my eyes…” Cole jumped up, equally as sharply as Cullen had. “No! He’s going to die – he – he _can’t_! We have to _help_ him! This way!”

Cole took off across the camp, starting Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra from their discussion. Cullen broke into a sprint after him, all his previous ills forgotten, pushed to one side. Cassandra immediately followed.

“What is it? Are we under attack?”

“Erahn – Cole says he’s hurt, and he’s nearby.”

Cassandra cursed under her breath and kept pace with him as they rounded the corner of the rocky outcrop to the south of their camp. Cullen skidded to halt in the snow, breath snagging in his throat, eyes wide. There he was. Erahn.

The elf had crumpled to his knees in the snow, usually rosy cheeks drained of all colour, ribbons of ice clinging to his clothes and skin. Several lashes across his body bled red into his robes, and the forearm of his left hand was horribly bruised. _Half-dead_ , was Cullen’s first thought. _He looks half dead._ A far cry from the warm, smiling person who’d told him to run only a few hours ago.

Cassandra cried out: “He’s here!” and dropped to her knees in the snow in front of him, beside Cole, who was gently supporting his head, trying to coax some life back into him. The elf was shaking uncontrollably, no doubt hypothermia setting in – _Maker knows how long he’d been out here, dressed only in his robes, freezing to death, outrunning arch demons and whatever else he’d had to cut his way through to get back to them. And he was here. He made it._

Cullen let out a long, shaky breath, trying to convince himself that it was the cold that had brought a wetness to his eyes.

With Cole still fussing, Cassandra hauled Erahn to his feet, gesturing for Cullen to help support him as they brought him into the camp. He did as bid, lacing a gentle arm about the elf’s waist, allowing him to lean half his weight on the Commander, the other half on the Seeker. Cole trailed behind, wringing his hands, muttering something about ink and desperation. Cullen winced to feel blood seep across his gauntlets from the wounds across Erahn’s body. He risked a glance at his face and drew a sharp breath to see him half-conscious, fading in and out as they carried him over to Mother Giselle. She, too, looked shocked, and cleared a space for him to lay him down. The moment he hit the table, she shooed them away in her heavy Orlesian accent.

“I will do what I can. Leave us.”

Cullen wavered, torn between wanting to stay, and knowing there was little more he could do. Erahn lay there, occasionally the mark on his hand sputtering into life, a blazing flash of emerald, and then dying away again. The Commander felt something in his chest give a tug _. I can’t just leave him, not when he’s like this. I don’t want to. But…_

His head won over his heart. It usually did.


End file.
